Well here we are, Day four of this venture, it is Super Tuesday today, and being a Hoosier all we get to do is watch. See we don't vote until May. Hoosiers, they (in case your not a basketball fan) are people who reside in Indiana or some lucky ones who are legal in Indiana but are guest of other places like Florida, Texas, Arizon and other places where the sun shines in the winter. Sorry getting back on track here, Hoosiers well we don't like to make mistakes, so what we do is hold our primary late enough that the choices are pretty much made, and then we can just say AMEN...and yes we picked the winner....Could we say Hindsight Hoosiers?
I purchased Photoshop for my computer a week ago. As you may notice the picture of the author doing research way back in the 40's needs work.. A man with photoshop should not be caught dead posting a picture like that....Some day I will learn how to work photoshop and I will be able to fix that. Maybe. But first I had to just get photoshop to work, I downloaded it and tried to launch it and it crashed..So after a day of depression I thought to myself I don't have to put up with this stuff I will call the help people and get this puppy fixed.
Well the first guy worked with me and discovered he did not think maybe we could fix it, so he made another user in my computer by just my first name and not both...Now I was two users...So we put photo shop over there and wow it worked and then he said, "you can call Dell.com and find out how to transfer all your stuff like your pictures and the rest of my life from your both names account to your first name account". I even said thank you sir.
OK I said I guess that if that is what photoshop is all about I better get on it...
But 15 minutes later photo shop in my one name account crashed also. Sending me reeling to say the least...yesterday I think I finally got the right guy and the genius actually fixed photo shop in the two name account where my life is, and to top it all off, he even helped me get totally rid of that one name account that I was really dreading to deal with on a daily basis.
So here we are its still Super Tuesday morning and am sure will be another perfect day in Paradise AKA Southwest Florida. I hope Gov. Huckabee does OK today. I like the guy he is refreshing I think. I think he is an honest to goodness Christian and to be quite frank I think he would be a good President and Commander in Chief of our armed forces. So Huck I wish you well today......And all you voters out there who actually get to decide who our candidates will be (not Hoosiers)I wish you wisdom and I wish you a wave of Patriotism that will carry you to the polls and casting your votes.
I must acknowledge here my readership is small but I appreciate all of you and I hope you will figure out how to leave a comment now and then as I do need input. I know it can be done; as my fisty challenging daughter when she was young, left me one behind my first days effort. So you all just may need some encouragement out there about how much I need all of you to make this work. Four days does not a blogger make, and although it has been my dream since 1942, that I could someday be one, I admit I am but a blemish on a good bloggers butt, but never the less I be bloggin....So Hi out there to my family, my sibs, Larry, Joe, Peggy my writing club here in Paradise, my fellow Marines across this great land, especially the members of the Honor Platoon 3002/SD/1956 and the Marine members of TWS, my loyal,loving and tolerant email address book, you know who you are....and even S.P. hi to even you.
Ok another day another dollar tomorrow I promise to write something worthwhile....
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Stomping Grapes
Going to take a break from grieving today and take you back 63 years...
Stomping Grapes
By Happy Hoosier
It was a yearly ritual at our home in late August or early September that my father and mother made 20 gallons of wine each year. We had to wait until the vast majority of the concord grapes on our arbor were fully ripe…That is when you did the most good, of getting the juice out of those packages called grapes and into a 20 gallon wooden oak barrel.
I suppose my brothers and sisters ahead of me had also been drafted or volunteer, more likely both as was my case to do the mechanical job of getting that juice out of those purple grapes. I remember my first year of induction into the brotherhood of wine making. My father told me to go into the house and wash my feet better; a lot better he said than I usually do, and while you are at it he said, get them really clean. Then put on some clean socks and walk back out here because I want you to stomp some grapes.
Stomp grapes? Well that kind of sounded important, I was going to be a part of things and help out. My feet were really clean, I went barefoot all summer anyway and they were tough and I could run on gravel roads without saying ouch. So nothing was harbored between my toes maybe a rock or two but nothing soft. So yes they were clean, what now?
Well they had a really large metal tub maybe three feet in diameter. And they had cut enough grapes to fill it full. Dad said OK take off your socks and get in there and stomp. That was the signal I needed and in I went and I was allowed to stomp these grapes. It was great fun for maybe 5 minutes, and it got juicy in there too. The grapes were popping out of the blue hulls and some were getting smashed a bit and thus making grape juice. I said am I done yet? Dad said no you’re just getting a good start on the first batch. First batch, well is someone else going to help with the stomping I ask? No our feet are not as clean as yours was the reply. Wow on and on I marched through this sea of grapes and all I could think of was the words “first batch”. And 12 years later I would be doing a similar exercise at boot camp in the Marine Corps called “marking time”, where you just kept marching but you did not go anywhere.
Well after what seemed like forever and a maybe plus a few minutes more, my Dad said, “ok you can get out and rest now, but don’t run off we will need you again. I sat down and rested and watched as they dipped the fruits of our labor out of the tub and put it into a pillow case which was hanging over another clean large pan. Then they would turn the pillow case and it would get smaller and smaller and tighter and the juice kept flowing out into the pan. Finally it was turned until nothing dripped from it any longer. It was then taken down and the grape hulls inside were discarded there on the ground and the bag refilled again for another ‘squeeze’ they called it.
After a couple more of these the tub was empty and then the cutters, mom and dad, took scissors and again filled the tub with grapes and the stomper was again summoned to work his magic. The second batch and maybe a third were just not as much fun as that first time. My feet now up to the knees were a nice shade of purple and this lasted for a few days. But finally we had enough juice and sugar and maybe other things were added to the juice and it was then placed into the wooded barrel that was then set up in the wood shed in a place called the smoke room. The smoke room was also used to smoke hams and bacon when we butchered each winter but this was summer so today it would just be a good place for the wine barrel. Days would go by and I would watch it ‘cook’, as my dad called it. Purple bubbles just kept rolling out the little hole in the top of the barrel…Nothing much was happening at that time of year so sometimes I would just watch it do that. It ran down the side of the barrel and dripped onto the concrete floor below. Each day dad would add fresh water to replace the stuff that had cooked out. Maybe a gallon a day, not sure but quite a bit was an interesting process. As days went by the bubbles slowed up and finally stopped altogether. That was the day that my dad declared it “done” and put the big cork in the hole, and carried the barrel through the outside cellar door, and into the basement where it was stored under the steps leading up to my mom’s kitchen.
Now we were not really drinkers so to speak, we just used this stuff on very special occasions. And when good friends would be settled in for conversation sometimes if my dad liked them he would ask, would you like a glass of wine? Of course my dad’s wine was a work of art. His wine was known to be not only the very best but also very could we say powerful? Well I remember one particular night when my older brother Joe who usually went down for the pitcher of wine was not home and thus the duty fell to me.
My dad said, Jack do your know how to siphon the wine out of the barrel into this pitcher? I said sure dad I have watched Joe do it many times and down into the basement I went. Well I sucked on the hose and took a good swallow but then when I took it from my mouth not much ran out. So I took another good swallow and not much ran out. I had forgotten that Joe held the pitcher lower than the level of wine in the barrel. But it did not intimidate me, I just kept sucking on that hose and getting what I could in the pitcher. Surely soon it would flow better and it would get full. I started to feel kind of different than went I first went down there. I began to wonder if they would come check on me as my efforts seem to kind of all run together now and I was kind of wobbly. Finally my dad opened the basement door and said, “hey Jack how about that wine”? I think I may have mumbled something to him and he came down the steps and saw that the pitcher was only about an inch deep in wine. He carried me up the steps and told my mother that he thought I was ready for bed. The party was over for me; I did not argue and was out like a light. It was 8 o’clock in the evening and the newly ordained stomper of the grapes was down for the count. At maybe 6 years of age he was sleeping it off for the first time. I woke up that next day at noon, it was high noon and half my day was gone. Sixteen hours had passed in my lifetime between sucking that hose and eating my breakfast.
The wine by the way although made from purple grapes was always crystal clear as water. It was excellent I heard a lot of guest proclaim. Also it was our medicine when we were sick. If my dad was sick he would drink a large water glass of it like it was a glass of water and set it down and proclaim, Ahhhh. Then he would get into bed kind of like I did on my maiden voyage and he would “sweat it out”, he called it. The next day he was better and working his farm.
A few years back I decided that maybe I should bring back this lost art that I had witnessed, my parents had died and I inquired but none of my older siblings had gotten the recipe for the process. It was lost; I remember seeing the paper it was written on, they got it out each year and followed it closely so as to always have that same wine. It had been brought over from Germany and handed down; I still cannot believe we lost it. Maybe for the best, as the wine was borderline too darn good.
Stomping Grapes
By Happy Hoosier
It was a yearly ritual at our home in late August or early September that my father and mother made 20 gallons of wine each year. We had to wait until the vast majority of the concord grapes on our arbor were fully ripe…That is when you did the most good, of getting the juice out of those packages called grapes and into a 20 gallon wooden oak barrel.
I suppose my brothers and sisters ahead of me had also been drafted or volunteer, more likely both as was my case to do the mechanical job of getting that juice out of those purple grapes. I remember my first year of induction into the brotherhood of wine making. My father told me to go into the house and wash my feet better; a lot better he said than I usually do, and while you are at it he said, get them really clean. Then put on some clean socks and walk back out here because I want you to stomp some grapes.
Stomp grapes? Well that kind of sounded important, I was going to be a part of things and help out. My feet were really clean, I went barefoot all summer anyway and they were tough and I could run on gravel roads without saying ouch. So nothing was harbored between my toes maybe a rock or two but nothing soft. So yes they were clean, what now?
Well they had a really large metal tub maybe three feet in diameter. And they had cut enough grapes to fill it full. Dad said OK take off your socks and get in there and stomp. That was the signal I needed and in I went and I was allowed to stomp these grapes. It was great fun for maybe 5 minutes, and it got juicy in there too. The grapes were popping out of the blue hulls and some were getting smashed a bit and thus making grape juice. I said am I done yet? Dad said no you’re just getting a good start on the first batch. First batch, well is someone else going to help with the stomping I ask? No our feet are not as clean as yours was the reply. Wow on and on I marched through this sea of grapes and all I could think of was the words “first batch”. And 12 years later I would be doing a similar exercise at boot camp in the Marine Corps called “marking time”, where you just kept marching but you did not go anywhere.
Well after what seemed like forever and a maybe plus a few minutes more, my Dad said, “ok you can get out and rest now, but don’t run off we will need you again. I sat down and rested and watched as they dipped the fruits of our labor out of the tub and put it into a pillow case which was hanging over another clean large pan. Then they would turn the pillow case and it would get smaller and smaller and tighter and the juice kept flowing out into the pan. Finally it was turned until nothing dripped from it any longer. It was then taken down and the grape hulls inside were discarded there on the ground and the bag refilled again for another ‘squeeze’ they called it.
After a couple more of these the tub was empty and then the cutters, mom and dad, took scissors and again filled the tub with grapes and the stomper was again summoned to work his magic. The second batch and maybe a third were just not as much fun as that first time. My feet now up to the knees were a nice shade of purple and this lasted for a few days. But finally we had enough juice and sugar and maybe other things were added to the juice and it was then placed into the wooded barrel that was then set up in the wood shed in a place called the smoke room. The smoke room was also used to smoke hams and bacon when we butchered each winter but this was summer so today it would just be a good place for the wine barrel. Days would go by and I would watch it ‘cook’, as my dad called it. Purple bubbles just kept rolling out the little hole in the top of the barrel…Nothing much was happening at that time of year so sometimes I would just watch it do that. It ran down the side of the barrel and dripped onto the concrete floor below. Each day dad would add fresh water to replace the stuff that had cooked out. Maybe a gallon a day, not sure but quite a bit was an interesting process. As days went by the bubbles slowed up and finally stopped altogether. That was the day that my dad declared it “done” and put the big cork in the hole, and carried the barrel through the outside cellar door, and into the basement where it was stored under the steps leading up to my mom’s kitchen.
Now we were not really drinkers so to speak, we just used this stuff on very special occasions. And when good friends would be settled in for conversation sometimes if my dad liked them he would ask, would you like a glass of wine? Of course my dad’s wine was a work of art. His wine was known to be not only the very best but also very could we say powerful? Well I remember one particular night when my older brother Joe who usually went down for the pitcher of wine was not home and thus the duty fell to me.
My dad said, Jack do your know how to siphon the wine out of the barrel into this pitcher? I said sure dad I have watched Joe do it many times and down into the basement I went. Well I sucked on the hose and took a good swallow but then when I took it from my mouth not much ran out. So I took another good swallow and not much ran out. I had forgotten that Joe held the pitcher lower than the level of wine in the barrel. But it did not intimidate me, I just kept sucking on that hose and getting what I could in the pitcher. Surely soon it would flow better and it would get full. I started to feel kind of different than went I first went down there. I began to wonder if they would come check on me as my efforts seem to kind of all run together now and I was kind of wobbly. Finally my dad opened the basement door and said, “hey Jack how about that wine”? I think I may have mumbled something to him and he came down the steps and saw that the pitcher was only about an inch deep in wine. He carried me up the steps and told my mother that he thought I was ready for bed. The party was over for me; I did not argue and was out like a light. It was 8 o’clock in the evening and the newly ordained stomper of the grapes was down for the count. At maybe 6 years of age he was sleeping it off for the first time. I woke up that next day at noon, it was high noon and half my day was gone. Sixteen hours had passed in my lifetime between sucking that hose and eating my breakfast.
The wine by the way although made from purple grapes was always crystal clear as water. It was excellent I heard a lot of guest proclaim. Also it was our medicine when we were sick. If my dad was sick he would drink a large water glass of it like it was a glass of water and set it down and proclaim, Ahhhh. Then he would get into bed kind of like I did on my maiden voyage and he would “sweat it out”, he called it. The next day he was better and working his farm.
A few years back I decided that maybe I should bring back this lost art that I had witnessed, my parents had died and I inquired but none of my older siblings had gotten the recipe for the process. It was lost; I remember seeing the paper it was written on, they got it out each year and followed it closely so as to always have that same wine. It had been brought over from Germany and handed down; I still cannot believe we lost it. Maybe for the best, as the wine was borderline too darn good.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Grieving the Loss of Sweetie
We had 16 months to prepare for the day my Sweetie died in April of last year. It had all crashed for us in late December of 2005, when what we thought was maybe a gall stone attack or something fixable turned into 6 hours later learning of 10 very large tumors in the Liver. We arrived back home and talked and cried half the night what was left of it...Then the next day we cried some more and she told me how she had messed up by not quitting smoking years before. She said she felt it would come very fast now, but she was just scared as is so understandable.
With several regiments of chemo and two clinical trials in which although hopeless she offered herself to be a test so that others might live someday she lasted a decent 16 months that we had together. We were home for Christmas when this bad new arrived for us, and then in about March of 06 between regiments of chemo, we returned to our place in paradise to spend about 3 weeks, before retreiving our motor home and heading back home for more treatments. Before that we had spent a few days at Mayo's for a second opinion, but there the Mayo's Doctor Jett did not have the silver bullet that we seeked...Instead he almost nailed the time of death when asked for the truth, as 40% chance of one year, and 20% chance of two, with most likely some where inbetween...we went back to our room and cried again and called the oncology in Indiana and said, "get it ready we are on our way back".
I will say my sweetie was indeed a trouper, as she leaned into everyone of these four different chemo's and the two clinical trials at IU med center....She sucked that stuff up like aspirin and never got very sick...She was just so hopeful that some how through this, that God would heal her and we would be able to go on. She was such a strong Christian woman, she would go to our church and stand before them, and tell how God was going to heal her in the end, and that no matter what this was all going to be a win win for her....
Her heart was totally broke one more time at IU med center when her doctor after the two clincial trials told her to not take any more chemo or trials at all but to just have the best quality of life she had left....It was a sad memorable day. We went to lunch and then headed home to face what was left for us. She was still actually looking very nice, and I was able to talk her into one more trip in our motor home in November of 06... I had been invited to attend the dedication of the new Musuem of the Marine Corps, that was to be dedicated on Nov. 10th of that year...It took some coaxing of, hey the President will be there sweetie we will get to see him and she finally agreed to go... I knew the trip would be good to get her mind off the inevitable that lie ahead. We made the trip it was a grand event that only the Marines can do. We had a wheel chair for sweetie, and when we arrived at security a Marine Infantry Captain in full dress blues bedecked in medals from both Afganistan, and two tours in Iraq, stepped forward to take the wheel chair from me... He said, "Sir you go through security but this fine lady is with me". "She does not go through security, we will be waiting for you after you pass through"...Well I passed through, and I tried to retreive sweetie from him... He said, "Sir I am fine, we will tour the area and acquaint you to the lay out, and then I will take you to your seating area"....I tried twice to get her back but only after almost an hour the Captain finally said, "Sir maybe I should return to my duties as a greeter"...I thanked him with a lump in my throat, but regret I did not get his ID...I did talk to him about his family and home state of South Dakota. He was off a South Dakota farm as was about a half dozen good men in my boot camp platoon.
We were not far from the President during his address at the dedication, maybe 200 feet and I know sweetie liked this opporunity so see President Bush in person...She admired him and his lovely wife Laura very much... In fact maybe about 3 months later, maybe 3 months before her passing, I told her, "that maybe the President had screwed up and was not doing things as well as we thought"....She let me know in quick order that, "He was a great President, and that some day the world would better appreciate the efforts of this man"...She felt him to be a Godly President as do I....I think she was totally correct and that I had experienced a weak moment....
I had hoped she would feel like the next day good enough to visit a southern plantation in Virginia, close to the Museum there at Quantico south of Wash DC....But she said, "no I want to go home now".... So we drove home on Nov. 11, 2006, both probably sensing or knowing that this would be our last trip together in the motor home.
OK this has been tough on me and we will talk more tomorrow.....
With several regiments of chemo and two clinical trials in which although hopeless she offered herself to be a test so that others might live someday she lasted a decent 16 months that we had together. We were home for Christmas when this bad new arrived for us, and then in about March of 06 between regiments of chemo, we returned to our place in paradise to spend about 3 weeks, before retreiving our motor home and heading back home for more treatments. Before that we had spent a few days at Mayo's for a second opinion, but there the Mayo's Doctor Jett did not have the silver bullet that we seeked...Instead he almost nailed the time of death when asked for the truth, as 40% chance of one year, and 20% chance of two, with most likely some where inbetween...we went back to our room and cried again and called the oncology in Indiana and said, "get it ready we are on our way back".
I will say my sweetie was indeed a trouper, as she leaned into everyone of these four different chemo's and the two clinical trials at IU med center....She sucked that stuff up like aspirin and never got very sick...She was just so hopeful that some how through this, that God would heal her and we would be able to go on. She was such a strong Christian woman, she would go to our church and stand before them, and tell how God was going to heal her in the end, and that no matter what this was all going to be a win win for her....
Her heart was totally broke one more time at IU med center when her doctor after the two clincial trials told her to not take any more chemo or trials at all but to just have the best quality of life she had left....It was a sad memorable day. We went to lunch and then headed home to face what was left for us. She was still actually looking very nice, and I was able to talk her into one more trip in our motor home in November of 06... I had been invited to attend the dedication of the new Musuem of the Marine Corps, that was to be dedicated on Nov. 10th of that year...It took some coaxing of, hey the President will be there sweetie we will get to see him and she finally agreed to go... I knew the trip would be good to get her mind off the inevitable that lie ahead. We made the trip it was a grand event that only the Marines can do. We had a wheel chair for sweetie, and when we arrived at security a Marine Infantry Captain in full dress blues bedecked in medals from both Afganistan, and two tours in Iraq, stepped forward to take the wheel chair from me... He said, "Sir you go through security but this fine lady is with me". "She does not go through security, we will be waiting for you after you pass through"...Well I passed through, and I tried to retreive sweetie from him... He said, "Sir I am fine, we will tour the area and acquaint you to the lay out, and then I will take you to your seating area"....I tried twice to get her back but only after almost an hour the Captain finally said, "Sir maybe I should return to my duties as a greeter"...I thanked him with a lump in my throat, but regret I did not get his ID...I did talk to him about his family and home state of South Dakota. He was off a South Dakota farm as was about a half dozen good men in my boot camp platoon.
We were not far from the President during his address at the dedication, maybe 200 feet and I know sweetie liked this opporunity so see President Bush in person...She admired him and his lovely wife Laura very much... In fact maybe about 3 months later, maybe 3 months before her passing, I told her, "that maybe the President had screwed up and was not doing things as well as we thought"....She let me know in quick order that, "He was a great President, and that some day the world would better appreciate the efforts of this man"...She felt him to be a Godly President as do I....I think she was totally correct and that I had experienced a weak moment....
I had hoped she would feel like the next day good enough to visit a southern plantation in Virginia, close to the Museum there at Quantico south of Wash DC....But she said, "no I want to go home now".... So we drove home on Nov. 11, 2006, both probably sensing or knowing that this would be our last trip together in the motor home.
OK this has been tough on me and we will talk more tomorrow.....
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Breaking Ground
To say I am a little nervous is an understatement, but here it goes...My first post on my first attempt at a blog....I guess I will learn as I go, I may have something of interest to say but I am not sure. I have authored some short stories that some folks like, so if and when I am at a loss for words you may get one of those. I currently am in Naples Florida for some of the winter, the third phase of my rotation each year where I raise corn and beans in Indiana, and then put my toys away and head south. I used to be two, but now am alone for a season or two or maybe all the way to the finish line who knows. Lost my sweet wife to cancer last spring just before the planting season began......She was gorgeous one of God's best efforts ever, but he called her home. I am content now with the thought that "business picked up in heaven", and God needed another greeter at the gate. One that could flash a dimpled smile that would melt your heart, or cause a saint to sin.
It has been say a tough year, as it seemed for weeks that my life was just an existance kind of on hold and not much fun at all. But I know now that I am going to heal some day ahead, and have started that process, thank you Lord for that.
So no more for now, but will have more of what this and I am all about tomorrow....
It has been say a tough year, as it seemed for weeks that my life was just an existance kind of on hold and not much fun at all. But I know now that I am going to heal some day ahead, and have started that process, thank you Lord for that.
So no more for now, but will have more of what this and I am all about tomorrow....
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